


Monsters out of Time

by KillerOfHope



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Embedded Images, Light-Hearted, Love, M/M, Samifer Big Bang 2018, Season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-29 12:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16264583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerOfHope/pseuds/KillerOfHope
Summary: God vanishes with his sister, Sam finds himself waiting at the bunker for Dean. But Lucifer arrives first, feeling just as lost as Sam.A relationship snaps into place that both don't want to feel guilty about.





	Monsters out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> My thousands thanks and my eternal gratitude goes to [humongouscandycoffee](https://humongouscandycoffee.tumblr.com/), who crafted such wonderful artwork for me. Seriously, I could cry everytime I see the pictures. Title was inspired by Ruelle's song "Monsters".

 

 

**At my worst, I worry you'll realize you deserve better.  
At my best, I worry you won't.**

  
  


Sam is sleeping next to him, exhausted and dead to the world. It's amazing how such a large man can make himself so small. He is lying on his side, curled up and with one hand under the pillow. Lucifer knows he keeps a knife down there, loosely grasping it in his fist. Years of practice make sure he doesn't cut himself in his sleep. Not that Lucifer intends to make that knife necessary. He will kill anything that comes close too them and dares to disturb Sam's well needed rest.   

Years of hunting, years of taking hits over and over again, have put Sam in a state that makes Lucifer cringe a little. Mostly, because a lot of the scars can be laid down at his feet. 

"You're still so beautiful, Sam," Lucifer murmurs and traces the line of Sam's neck with his finger. "Never let anyone tell you different." 

The touch is soft, barely a whisper in order not to wake the hunter up. In the recent weeks Lucifer has learned that it doesn't take much to startle Sam. He never sleeps deep, a part of him is always on edge. Waiting half alert for the next hit, the next attack. As much as he hates the necessity of it, Lucifer is grateful for Sam's constant vigilance. Nightmares visit the Winchester often enough, memories of hunts gone wrong or other moments that burned themselves into Sam's mind. 

A life spend fighting a war that cannot be won. 

Lucifer can't tell if he should admire Sam for it or mock him, the next time the issue comes up. 

When Sam lets out a grunt, Lucifer angles his head and waits. He won't interfere, Sam's head is his own. Finally. Lucifer can understand the sentiment, longing for some peace and quiet even if it's just for a few hours. But Sam doesn't wake up. He just kicks the sheets away and turns around until he's laying on his stomach, shirt shoved up slightly so Lucifer has a perfect view on the lower back. It's just a patch of naked skin. Unremarkable, but it still takes the archangel's breath away. 

It's late, in the middle of the night and Lucifer is grateful no one else gets to witness this act of vulnerability. 

"Have you nothing better to do than to watch me sleep?" Sam mumbles a little bit later. His face is still buried in the pillow and he hasn't even twitched, gave no sign of waking up, yet the Winchester knows without looking that Lucifer is still there, where he left him hours ago. 

"What makes you think you're not worth my time?" Lucifer inquires in a quiet voice, which is very different from his usual demeanour.  

Sam doesn't give an answer the statement. Lucifer doesn't lie and since the darkness makes it impossible to make out more than a silhouette perching on a chair, Sam only sighs. Trying back to sleep is difficult, but Lucifer's gaze on him is familiar enough that Sam forgets his worries. It should disturb him, being so familiar with Lucifer's presence. Yet they barely need words to communicate. They just fit. They always have. It's just that Sam has given up fighting against it. 

Closing his eyes again, Sam pretends not to see the shadows of a pair of wings colouring the wall. He can't even call it light, because the room is pitch black, not counting the slight red simmer in Lucifer's eyes. It's more that Sam can sense the wings, white and pure, filling out the room and creating a cocoon for Sam to sleep in. 

 _There's no safer place than this_ , comes the unbidden thought, just before Sam falls asleep again. 

He can't tell if it's his own or Lucifer's. 

 

* * *

 

Lucifer finds Sam lost in thought one morning, staring at the newspapers. The cup of coffee is cold, put aside and forgotten. Not an unusual sight, getting Sam a printed paper every morning is a luxury Lucifer doesn't mind providing. There's no need for grant gestures and perhaps Sam never truly noticed that it just appears out of nowhere every morning, but today Sam isn't _reading_ the articles. His eyes don't travel over the lines, he doesn't mumble under his breath and minutes go by without Sam turning the papers.

"What's bothers you?" Lucifer asks while keeping himself busy with the dishes.

The task is beneath him, but he likes the feeling of the water running over his hands.

"The date," Sam tells him with a deep sigh.

"Is there an anniversary I missed?" Lucifer wants to know and puts the plates away. As far as he's aware the Winchester don't celebrate birthdays, holidays and deaths.

The first goes back to the believe they are not worth being honoured for being brought into this world, the second the often miss due to their hunting jobs and the third are simply too many to count.

Sam shakes his head and flicks a finger against the paper. "No, not that. But look at the year, I just never thought that I would actually get this old. That I would make it this far. Even in Stanford when I planned to propose to Jess, I never truly imagined it. I mean it's been fucking _sixteen years_ since Dad told me to not to come back if I walked out of that door. It's ..."

The younger Winchester turns to him and sends him one of these soul-deep gazes. Those that can't deny what Sam lived through and that his mind has seen so much more than any other human. It's been crammed into his head and Lucifer doesn't have to read his mind in order to know that Sam Winchester can't believe he will make it another sixteen years.

Lucifer doesn't have the heart to tell him he will live far longer than that.

He walks around the kitchen table and places a hand on Sam's shoulder. His hope is that the touch is comforting. Perhaps it isn't and Sam is just too used to it in order to say otherwise. It's difficult to tell, what Sam wants sometimes. Lucifer's eyes travel over the headlines. They are trivial, absolutely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. They announce a big scandal involving a high ranking politician. Outspoken journalists ponder about the ramifications and stir worry into the hearts of the common folk.

As far as Lucifer can tell, humanity hasn't changed that much. The technology is more advanced, medicine has gotten better and more accessible, yet in regards of politics nothing has changed.

"Do you want to go there?" Lucifer asks as Sam keeps running his thumb over a headline that announces a nation wide march.

It looks somewhat important. Possible the start to change the world for the better for a lot of people.

Yet Sam only shakes his head again and folds the newspaper. He looks tired.

"No, I'd just worry about being seen. I don't enjoy being trapped in a crowd either and while I believe the reason for the protest is admirable, I can't really picture myself holding a sign and shouting paroles." Sam reaches for the hand on his shoulder and their fingers entwine. "I'll be happy knowing that others can change the world as well."

Sometimes Lucifer has the urge to apologize, like in this moment. When he wants to tell Sam that he's sorry for all the pain his vessel has suffered to get this far. That his sacrifices will go unacknowledged by the world and be forgotten by his own race. Yet he won't do it. He never will. It wouldn't be right to lie to Sam. Not when Lucifer finally _has_ want he wants.

Since there's nothing he can say to make it better, Lucifer chooses the next best thing.

He bends down and kisses Sam, leaning against the table and licks into his vessel's mouth until they're both out of breath.

When Lucifer pulls away and sees Sam's smile, it like sunlight caressing his face while being still locked away deep inside the cage.

  


* * *

 

 

Life goes on. It's irritating.

A part of him expects that the pleasant days in the bunker last forever, that they can hole up there and never step outside again. Yet Sam knows that the inaction would drive him up the walls within a fore-night. The last time an injury grounded him until they could get a hold of Castiel, he ended up relabelling the library, scanning a good portion of it and saving it online before he moved on to simple, but effecting healing draughts.

Sammy, the Witch. That had been Dean's joke, before he swallowed his words very quickly as he saw Sam's dark gaze. They both knew that Sam knows enough spells and magic to be labelled as such, but past history makes acknowledging abilities outside the norm difficult. Aside from the fact that Sam isn't actually using any of it. For now he will pretend that Dean could do most of the stuff as well. That it doesn't take special talent to mix up a decent painkiller that you would never get in a pharmacy and costs nothing more than three days of preparation. Sam and Dean never breath a word about the younger Winchester's odd hobbies. The few allies they have left don't ask either, often crediting the angels for a quick or miraculous solution.

The younger Winchester's so called big brain gets overlooked, but that's okay. He really doesn't need the attention.

"What's next?" Sam wants to know, when he throws his duffel bag into the trunk.

They just finished a salt and burn. This time they even avoided any major injuries, even if Sam's back is burning. Damn Roger Stevens, the ghost who nearly died one hundred years ago and haunted the small town so infrequently that they had trouble to find his resting place. It lead to a lot of digging, five graves for _each of them._ That's a lot, even for them. Since the local police got suspicious rather quickly, it had been nerve wrecking to finally find the right grave.

"Rowena just texted me," Dean mumbles and glares at his phone. The blue light illuminates his face, turning his features into the old, rugged man he was inside.

At times like these Sam could _see_ Dean's forty extra years, carved into his face. The expression appears, when no one else is looking. During the day his brother seems like the twenty-something that flirts with every girl on legs. Mostly to get their numbers and more coffee, though Sam wonders why none of these girls ever figure out why Dean knows exactly what to say and when to back off. Dean never pushes to far, he only offers honest compliments. Tips well, far better than Sam, since Dean has a better eye for who needs the money. Who will be more happy with a good night of fun or some car maintenance for free.

Sam has spent a lot of late mornings waiting for his brother, doing the serving girl from last night a favour here or there.

It's an old and well oiled system, ensuring that they can spend some time apart before they end up trapped in a car together for the next twelve hours or more.

"She texted _you_ ?" Sam asks back and raises an eyebrow. He changes his shirts and hates the way the dirt and the sweat still cling to him. At least it's not blood, but there's no way to get clean right now. "What does she want with _you?_ Usually it's me, she bothers."

Dean snorts with amusement. He joked about that odd friendship before. One puppy-eyed hunter against a four-century old witch. It seems like a strange match, but Dean gives Rowena the credit of acknowledging the amount of interesting and useful knowledge that's trapped in Sam's big brain. He has heard them talk over the phone, going from obscure languages to rare plants to discussing the influence of moonlight. He'd worry, if it weren't for Lucifer keeping the old woman in check. Rowena might be an ally, but she doesn't exactly hide the greed in her eyes when she looks at Sam.

She wants to make Sam her student and while Dean isn't the biggest fan of the devil, Lucifer would never force Sam down that road.

"Apparently your phone is off," Dean explains and shrugs as he gets behind the drivers seat. "She asks about the translation of a spell she needs."

It takes Sam a moment to catch on.

"Ah, yes. _To Lionize and to Forget,_ I remember. She send me the text a week ago, interesting work. I promised to look at her translation, because I hoped it would be useful the next time we...," Dean listens to Sam rambling on. He's fascinated how his brother can write entire essays on his phone, but he cares more of the soft voice washing over radio static anyway.

  


* * *

 

  


He has no clue what Lucifer does during the day. Or rather, during the times when Sam is out hunting on with Dean. Since they can't put Lucifer in chains, it would never last and it only serves to make him bitchy, they agreed to let him run free. They can't exactly stop him and while Dean wasn't happy with it, he had to realize that the Apocalypse is old news by now. Lucifer promising not to rain down blood on humanity's head has to be enough. There would've been a time, where Sam felt guilty about not doing anything to stop Lucifer, but after God talked it out with his Sister, after he saw Lucifer deflate and disappear into the depths of the bunker, feeling cast aside and angry, he had to realize that _hating_ the devil will lead to nothing.

In the end it had been the lost look in Lucifer's face, the realization how pointless his hate and his anger had been, because God truly didn't care, that drove Sam to reach out.

It had been after they convinced Amara to talk to Chuck, take their potential deadly fight off the damned planet, when Sam had looked for Lucifer and was surprised to still find him lingering around in the bunker.

  


_"I'm surprised you're still here," Sam had said. His chest feels tight as he continues, "I'd thought you'd be long gone by now."_

_"I have nowhere go to."_

  


Sam half expects Lucifer to lingering around in the bunker when they return, just like he did back then. But this time the rooms are dark, the lights switched off and no devil saunters around the corner, barefoot and watching documentaries on a ridiculous old TV. That happened often enough that even Dean doesn't comment on it anymore, aided by the fact that he's often too tired to argue.

Watching Dean disappear in the showers feels strange. The bathroom is far away from Sam's own room and they're sleeping in separate quarters now. After decades of sharing a motel room and listen to his brother's snoring the silence is a bit eerie. Yet Sam is glad that he doesn't have to worry his brother anymore when insomnia hits him. Sam can sleep three hours during the night, read and make breakfast, only to go to bed around midday and then sleep some more. It's relaxing, knowing that he has his own schedule and nothing short of an emergency will disrupt it.

He and Dean are still living out of each other's pockets. But they got a little more space to breath.

Finally they have reached a point, where they can let go for a minute and not struggle for breath while the other is out of sight.

To be honest, Sam is glad that Dean isn't always around. Isn't forced to witnesses every damned second of Sam's mortal life.

He lies down on the bed, exhausted but too wired to go to sleep at the same time. In the end he closes his eyes and reaches for the connection. It's an open channel, a remnant of the time when he was someone else. There was a time, when Lucifer and Sam shared _everything._ Every breath, every molecule, every hurt and every joy. It's easy to find, even after the few years of separation.

 _'Where are you?'_ Sam wants to know as he stretches his legs and wiggles his feet until the socks are hitting the ground. Undressing entirely though is an act he lacks the motivation for. Sam hesitates before adding, _'I missed you.'_

Lucifer's answer is non-verbal. Sam has tried to tell Dean how it feels like. In the deep in the night, when they have been driving for hours and seem to be the only living being for miles, he confesses what it feels like to be with Lucifer. Tries to put in words what goes on between them, because Dean isn't blind and they told each other not to lie anymore. It's hard, sometimes. Sam has witnessed how tightly Dean grips the steering wheel during those confessions on occasion. Has witnessed in return how tense Sam gets on the drivers seat. But they don't shout. They don't yell. Though after hours of silence a single spoken word can be louder than any argument.

Sam enjoys the silences, the background noises.

It feels a lot like this, when Lucifer reaches out from far above the clouds and pulls Sam up. It's the exact opposite of Sam being used as vessel. Instead Sam's mind travels through Lucifer's grace, holds onto him until it feels like flying through the air via Peter Pan style. Lucifer's amusement is honest, when he catches the thought and sees the reference flicker through Sam's mind.

 _'Third star to the right? We can do that if you want.'_ After a pause Lucifer adds, _I would create that world just for you. '_

If Sam had a stomach in that form, it would certainly lurch, because they go from flying through the clouds to hovering above Earth. It's cold or perhaps it's just Sam's imagination. Or it's Lucifer's grace and his light that wraps itself around Sam. It says a lot about his life that Sam imagines this is what couples feel like if they snuggle with each other on the couch. Not that he can compare, his memories with Jess are washed out photograph that's been tucked into a corner, where it slowly fades away. Ruby is a dark spot, buried in a dusty closet of his mind.

They don't wake the kind of intimacy that runs through Sam right now. Aware that he doesn't have a body right, that he's probably dreaming on way or another, Sam still arches his back and presses himself against Lucifer.

' _I want you',_ he murmurs with silent want. They are words he doesn't know how to speak out loud.

Doesn't keep Sam from wanting to push Lucifer into the wet, dirty earth and kiss him senseless in the rain. He wants to run his tongue over impossible soft lips and feel Lucifer cling to him like he always wanted him to. Sam shudders when he finds himself on his back. They are no longer flying, but he can't tell if he's back in his bed and in his body either. Yet it's unimportant. What matters is that he can sense the rough denim of Lucifer's jeans beneath his finger tips, can rake them over his back as a hot mouth searches for a specific spot on his neck.

 _'Yes,'_ Sam moans in silence, but it comes from his lips so easily. The meaning is not lost to either of them. Above him Lucifer shudders, rocks his hips down into them as _that_ word echoes between them. Sam dictates the pace while Lucifer varies the intensity of thrusts. They're both losing themselves in the other, clinging and digging deeper, unable to let go.

Unwilling to give up what they should've had from the beginning. It's frighteningly easy to welcome the devil with open arms.

  


* * *

  


The worst thing, Sam has gathered, is waiting in uncertainty. When you're alone and you can feel how doubt slowly invades your thoughts. His body burns to take action, to take the second car they stored in the garage for emergency purposes and search the country until he finds his brother. It's been three days since Amara and Chuck had their confrontation, five since he last talked to his brother and seven since he last saw him with his own eyes. Sam grits his teeth and fights the anger raising at the surface. With wifi and his cellphone down and the landlines working only sporadically, he can't reach out to Dean. The system they have for such scenarios is that the other party waits at the bunker. Decades they practised searching for the first motel in the yellow pages, but with the bunker as their permanent home base now that has changed. It's useless wasting money on gas if Dean is already on his way here.

He has to be. Sam tells himself that his brother is alright.

Amara and Chuck are ... gone, if he understands his last moments with Chuck correctly. Not dead, just together and removed enough in order not to be a hazard to humanity anymore.

Sam doesn't know _how_ he knows this, just like he doesn't know why he has a sprained ankle that hurts like a bitch and has him limping through the bunker, but his guess is that it has to do with the last very strange month he had. The world almost gets obliterated and now when they escaped the fate, it seems to hold it's breath. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

A noise makes him look up. By now he knows the sound of the creaking door, he has mapped the bunker with his mind. Explored it in the long hours of the early morning or the late night, when he can't find any sleep. He knows this place better than Dean ever will. For a moment hope thunders through his chest, but the first three steps tell that it can't be his brother who is coming down the stairs.

It's not Cas either, nor anyone else of their usual allies. Sam knows each of them by heart.

But he still doesn't have to look up in order to know, who is standing on top of the last step.

"Do you mind if I come in?" Lucifer asks.

It's not the question that makes Sam look up, but the tone of his voice. He recognized Lucifer the moment he entered the bunker, for he's the only person he knows better than even Dean. Their last encounters had been filled with anger, with spite and with comments that always stayed out of Dean's earshot. For the shake of the world, Lucifer swallowed his haughty pride and Sam his silent anger. With the recent turns of events, Sam hadn't expected to ever see the Archangel again.

He carefully made sure not to consider how he felt about that.

"What happened to you?" Sam blurts out and stares at Lucifer.

His lips are torn, his hair dirty and unwashed. Sam's quick survey also discovers faintly trembling hands, bare bleeding feet and a horrible, empty look in Lucifer's eyes.

When he only gets a helpless shrug, Sam jumps to his feet, entirely forgetting his ruined foot. Pain surges through his body as he stands up too quickly, putting weight on his ankle as he usually would. With a low cry, he stumbles as his leg gives out. Since the sofa is too far away, Sam braces himself for the fall. Expects more pain, scrapes and bruises as the floor quickly comes closer.

It's less surprising than it probably should be that he lands in Lucifer's arms instead.

They wrap themselves around his broad shoulders, hoisting up with the strength of an angel and that at least answers Sam's question regarding Lucifer's powers. Still, there's something _off_ about him and it's not the hand the brushes the hair out of his face.

"Please be careful, Sam," Lucifer says softly as he lifts him up and positions him back on the couch. Yet instead of standing up and towering above Sam, Lucifer perches on his toes. His hands over above Sam's, unsure if he's allowed to touch. "I don't want to see you hurt."

Sam's swallows thickly. He's aware what the appropriate reaction should be. He should be lashing out, refusing Lucifer's touch and not mourning its loss in secret. But in the presence of the devil lies never last. Lucifer's grace burns through all of them and Sam learned a long time ago that honesty works best with him.

"Why?" he wants to know. "You never had a problem with pain before."

It's the careful wording of what happened between them. Dean likes to think that Sam's time in the cage was a lot like his own, only worse. Endless torture, mind games and such. The truth is far more complicated. Sam lacks the words for it. There's no explanation, why he isn't carving a banishing sigil with his blood and runs as far as his endurance allows. Yet the truth is that Lucifer will always find him. It's fate. Destiny written into the stars regardless if the script hadn't been indented to leave room for interpretation.

"You stood up to my father," Lucifer whispers and averts his gaze, sinking to the ground. It's watching like a puppet that got its strings got. "You argued with him and changed his mind to confront my dearest aunt. I tried to do the same, but he wouldn't listen."

What is he supposed to make of this?

Sam stares at the beautiful, destructive figure on the floor. If he would close his eyes, he'll be able to sense the wings extending into time and space. Already he can feel the cold creeping up his spine, but it's not uncomfortable. More like stepping into freezing water on a hot summer day.

"Do you hate me for it? That he listened to me, but not to you?" Sam wants to know. He can't imagine how Lucifer must feel. A bit like Sam did, when he found out that John Winchester had a kid that he celebrated birthdays with. For Lucifer pleaded to his father to stand up for his creations, yet God had nothing to say to his son.

But He listened to Sam. Though he isn't sure what they talked about.

This will be another secret he will never tell Dean, should his brother ever ask. Sam doesn't _quite_ remember the conversation he had with _the Light,_ but the knowledge of the meeting is there. After Dean left to confront Amara, Sam walked up to Chuck. He remembers wanting to ask him something, another curious question. Trivia, in the grand scheme of things, but something his childhood on the road never allowed him to explore. He remembers how the disguise of the god wrapped in mortal coil fell away and then ...

Sam will never know what words he said, but he remembers his anger. His disappointment. The sadness that he braced himself for rejection, another denial and another day where he's found unworthy.

"No, Sam. I could never hate you." Lucifer hesitates for a moment, then he corrects himself. "I could never _truly_ hate you. I admit there were moments, after you pulled us into the cage, where I considered the option and those moments were far longer for you than for me, but the answer is that I cannot fault you for possessing such an incredible bright soul. You are what my father wanted me to be, an ideal he carved for himself and failed to fulfill."

The flinch might stem from his bad ankle, but Sam can't deny that there's _more._ In a way Lucifer has always been right. They were made for each other.

Sam wants to deny the fact. It's wrong. In front of him sits the devil. The enemy of humanity, cause of the apocalypse and a terrifying creature of power.

Yet this is true for all Archangels. True for all angels.

It's even true for Sam.

There are parts of him that has embraced Lucifer before. He said _Yes._ With all intentions and no reservations.

In some nights when Sam lays awake and fights insomnia, always making sure that neither Dean nor Cas are around to witness his misery, he wonders if all his troubles lately don't stem from the fact that the story wasn't over when he chose the cage. It was supposed to be the end. Sam Winchester saved the world at the cost of suffering at the hands of the devil for eternity, having taught Heaven and Hell a lesson.

Never mess with humanity.

But the same humanity, the same love and the same compassion drove Castiel to fly to the cage to get him out. Separating him from Lucifer.

There are no words for the time when they were one being, but what Sam remembers from the separation he can only describe as brute force tearing them apart. Tearing _him_ apart.

"Sam?" Lucifer asks. In his eyes it's written that he doesn't need to read Sam's mind in order to know what he's thinking. His hand hovers over the throbbing and aching leg. "Can I heal you?"

What Sam hears is 'Can I heal _us_?'

He hopes it's possible.

And answers.

  


_(YES)_

  


* * *

 

  


It's probably the fact that Dean isn't there. That Sam doesn't know if Dean is still alive or not. With Lucifer here all he has to do is ask him, but in a selfish moment he tells himself that this can wait. Just ... for a second. For a few. Or a single god damned minute.

Time doesn't mean anything to Archangels.

Lucifer once explained that there's no time in the cage. Or ... very little, since an Archangel an stretch a single moment into eternity. That's what it feels like when Lucifer heals the fracture in Sam's ankle and the pain vanishes. That is collides with Sam's rushes, horrible and absolutely selfish action that has him leaning down and kissing Lucifer with all he has, has nothing to do with it.

A deeply satisfying moan vibrates in his chest as Sam opens his mouth and licks over Lucifer's lips, burying his hands in the devil's hair to pull him closer. The reaction is prompt. With a smooth motion the archangel climbs on Sam's lap and no awkward meeting of limbs hinders them. Their bodies melt together and they touch like starving lovers. Searching kisses turn into passionate ones as Sam digs his fingers into Lucifer's flesh, fumbles to open the belt of his jeans and they moan together as they crotches rub against each other, searching friction and a kind of fulfilment they never experienced before.

Lucifer gasps Sam's name as teeth grace over his bare neck and bucks downwards, halfway sliding out of his pants in near impossible move of physics as two hands grab his ass.

"There's ... a bed," Sam murmurs between their kisses. His lips are bitten red, swollen but he couldn't care less. Years of the world weighting down on his shoulders are slowly washed away and with each new touch it feels like as if he's being absolved of his sins.

"Later. Too far away. I ... I want do it right here on the couch." Lucifer groans as his fingers close around Sam's throbbing shaft. That touch feels more like Heaven than his actual visit to the place. He doesn't know that Lucifer feels the same way. The devil leans forwards, tearing Sam's shirt of his chest since actually snapping it away would require more concentration he has to spare right now.

With a feverish Lucifer grasps Sam's wrist and guides it between his legs.

"I need you inside me," he says with a feverish, hungry gaze. His breath hitches when Sam complies. First with one digit before moving on to one finger. Two. Then three.

"I wanted to do this ever since we met in that dream," Sam admits, breathless. Years and years of wading through the blood of monsters and innocent bystanders have burned the truth into his breath.

Had Lucifer used a different face or if the dream had lasted just a bit longer, who knows how the world might have ended.

His younger self will deny it, his morales will deny it, but Sam _knew_ Lucifer from the moment he places the hand on his shoulder. Without ever having seen his face.

When Lucifer presses him back into the pillows and sinks down, trapping them both forever in a new blissful truth, Sam is beyond feeling regret for the fact that he maybe only rejected Lucifer at first, because he wore the face of a man. Though the lust and the desire he felt back than is a single drop of water compared the ocean of feelings he's swimming in now.

A part of him wants to tell Lucifer that he loved him even back than. That he was right and that they were meant to be. Another resents the idea and would rather embrace the fact that they _worked_ for this. That they worked towards this from opposing sides and are now meeting in the middle. As equals.

"Oh yes," Lucifer moans as he jerks his hips, caught between Sam's thrusts and his fist. " _Yes,_ Sam. Yes."

Ravenous need thunders through Sam as he hears the words. He gets why Lucifer worked so meticulous for that word. Hearing him say is better than dreaming of demon blood touching his lips at night.

Far better.

  


* * *

 

"Don't go," Sam says a while later, when he's able to form clear thoughts again.

 

 

He's laying in his bed, worn out but more comfortable than he ever remembers feeling. He has lost count how many times they had sex in the last two days. Each attempt to let go of another only let to them rutting against the next available surface. Sam compares his affinity to the darker side of the world, his fate as boy king and as Lucifer's vessel as addiction before, but he had never known how true it was until now. Though ... how true or awful could be, when he can see the same need reflected back at him in Lucifer's face.

"I'm not going away," Lucifer's says as he pulls on his jeans. "I'm not leaving you. All you have to do is think my name and I will be there, unseen by anyone else if you desire it, but the world will come knocking at our doors sooner or later."

Sam lets out a miserable sound. He considers wrapping his arms around Lucifer's waist, kiss his spine and pull him back under the sheets. His cock just throbs at the thought of doing it again, but he's insatiable. He wants Lucifer to destroy him and ruin him in return.

"I walk through this door without you, it's going to feel as if this isn't real." Sam runs his fingers through his sweaty hair. It feels weird to be so well-rested. No doubt, no guilt is hindering his thoughts. No apparat crises is demanding his attention, because he's still cut of from the world and his brother is alive.

That one fear has been alleviated the moment Lucifer stepped through the door of the bunker. If Amara spared her own nephew, who functioned as her jailor since the dawn of time, she has spared Dean as well. Yet Sam feels that Lucifer is right. Reality is catching up to them and not even Archangels can stretch time and space to infinity. Well, at least not in this state. Sam watches Lucifer pull out a shirt of his closet and the beautiful back riddled with scratch and bite marks disappears.

He hasn't said anything about the state of his powers, but Sam is aware that he needs to recover anyway. Lucifer lacks a certain ease in his behaviour.

Suddenly worried, Sam distangles his limbs from the sheets and pulls on some boxers.

"I'm not injured," Lucifer tells him and as he places a hand on Sam's shoulder, he carefully studies how the Winchester shudders. From the cold, the pleasure in the gesture and the grace running beneath his vessel's skin. "You don't have to worry."

"You're not as strong as you used to be," Sam answers and runs a finger over a red line on Lucifer's forearm. It must sting at least and it wouldn't be there if Lucifer thought that healing it is a waste of energy. "You're not dangerously low on grace and you probably still have more than a normal angel can ever hope to have, but I remember you telling me that archangels are wired differently to the Host."

Watching Lucifer shrug casually, hurts. They both are keenly aware of the knowledge that the Host could use this opportunity to corner Lucifer. Either to take revenge and kill him or for some other nefarious purpose. From the time they spent as one being Sam knows Lucifer has mixed feelings about Heaven.

"I promise I will be careful," Lucifer says and Sam takes this as closest admission that the devil isn't at his fullest strength he will ever get.

"Where are you going?" Sam asks as they walk into the kitchen, more honestly curious than fearing what the archangel might _do_ if he's left unsupervised.

"Explore." The devil shrugs. "My aunt ... did something to me. She took away the mark and healed the effects it had on my grace."

Accepting the coffee mug that is handed to him might be a strange sight, but Sam noticed before that their movements are more in synch now. If he closed his eyes, he could still locate Lucifer across the room. In the light of a new day he should at least have an inkling of guilt and second thoughts, but what takes his breath away every single time Lucifer looks at him is the bone deep certainty that this is right.

They both want this. They both need this and it's only a matter of time before Lucifer will be back. But Sam gets that Lucifer might wish to be alone for a while. Gather his thoughts and figure himself out. Especially since the archangel looks like Sam when struggles against the cravings for demon blood.

"Lucifer," Sam begins as his lover makes his way to the door without any further words of farewell. Yet when he has the eyes of the old and eternal being on him, he doesn't know what to say.

 _'I love you'_ is an option.

 _'I know how you feel'_ as well.

 _'Did the mark influence your actions so much that you now fear that haven't been your own person in millennia?'_ comes closest, but Sam can't do that to Lucifer. They never needed a lot of words to communicate and after the last to days wrapped up in each other, Sam can read the devil like the back of his own hand.

Besides that ... it doesn't take much to figure out what's bothering Lucifer. The mark, the effects and his troubled history with god have everything Lucifer has known for a long time. Time he endured alone down in the cage and now it's all gone. Even the person he hated more than anything, he witnessed being too pathetic and too weak to have done the crimes against him intentionally.

What he settles on in the end is, "Come back."

He leaves out the _'soon'_ and the _'please'_. For this is neither a request nor the prayer of a desperate. It's the statement that Lucifer is welcome. Perhaps not here in the bunker, he will have to face Dean's wrath as soon as he's back, but that won't deter him for long. He wants to give Lucifer a place to come back to. He wants to be the person that welcomes the archangel with open arms.

For he can't deny that it feels good to be loved by a person that can't stand anyone else.

"Of course," Lucifer says and smiles. He looks a lot better, compared the moment when he first stumbled over the threshold of Sam's home.

The bright morning sun shines through the room and casts beautiful patterns on the floor as Lucifer opens the door and walks through it.

  


* * *

 

  


Dean returns three hours later and Sam feels like someone who hasn't cleaned his flat in weeks, only to get a surprise visit from someone who has its life put together. Thankfully a second glance tells Sam that Dean only looks that way. His brother is shaken up and he clings to Sam as they embrace longer than he usually would.

"Damned, I wasn't sure if we would survive this one," Dean murmurs after a while.

"Seems we made it once again," Sam answers and doesn't mention how the crises always have been built on top of each other.

Given the fact that they were the one who got rid of Death, the consequences are minor compared to what could have happened. Well, unless you count on the international wide-spread loss of communication. Apparently Amara and Chuck meeting up caused some inter cosmic wave that destroyed a lot of satellites and could take weeks, if not months to get the back online.

"What about you?" Dean asks when he lets go and points at Sam's bruises.

Sam won't tell his brother anytime soon that these are not from the big fight, but rather from the numerous moments when he and Lucifer couldn't make it to the bed and fucked each against the wall. Yet that question would be easier to answer than recounting what exactly happened during his conversation with God.

"Chuck and I ... talked," Sam finally says, not knowing how else to describe it. A lifetime as hunter taught him that there are sometimes no words for the unspeakable and only those who went through similar experiences can understand what are you trying to say.

It's one of the reasons, why hunters in general are a lonely folk and mostly made up by people who like to drink alone.

"Huh, given your expression I'm almost glad that I wasn't there to see it."

Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean's comment. His brother's lips twitch.

"Don't give me that look, Sammy. You know as well as I do that you can guilt-trip anyone talking about their feelings and I'm surprised that you just included fucking _God_ into that list."

"Well, I guess I had some things to get off my chest," Sam murmurs. More to himself than to Dean.

  


* * *

  


Life goes on. Sam hates the phrase, but it's true. Since neither of them are good at loitering around in the bunker, they soon ask Castiel if there's something they can do. Communications are slow to get back online since governments are focusing on the important things like national security, hospitals and preventing food shortages. Cas hasn't said as much, but from what Sam understands Heaven actually tries to help here and there. All the time the angels spend down here on earth must've been good for something, because a lot of ships on sea find a way to reach a save harbour. After TV comes back online he also hears scientist discuss if the issue with the sun will have lasting consequences. There are talks about the eco system, the loss of crops world wide and possible anarchy, yet nothing happens. Of course there are minor problems, but nothing Sam concerns himself with after they survived a showdown of a cosmic scale.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asks one night, visibly irritated since Sam isn't able to cut down the shuffling. "If you're tired, go to fucking sleep. If you're hungry, there's still chocolate on the backbeats, somewhere. But could you just please stop moving around like got itching powder in your pants?"

"Sorry," Sam groans and tries to comply. They drive through the night, leaving a burned down nest of vampires behind them. "I know I should be exhausted, but it's hardly my fault if I can't close my eyes without seeing the boy dangling from the ceiling like a piñata."

Dean's face says everything and when Sam keeps twitching and fiddling next to him, he makes a decision and pulls over.

"Let's switch," he says as he climbs out of the car. "At least this way one of us gets some sleep tonight."

Sam grunts. It's their own damned fault that they are so damned good at their job. Thanks to Castiel they now get pointed at locations, where a hunter is way over his head and since they arrive often enough to save said hunters life, they don't protest that much. The hunts are often bloody and gruesome, yet sadly nothing they haven't seen before.

 _I miss you,_ Sam thinks when Dean as fallen sleep.

Despite his promise to come whenever he calls, Sam refrains from calling Lucifer back to him. He figures that the archangel needs his space and as celestial being he will need more than just a few weeks to recover. But given the way Sam always seems to find some actual restful sleep, he suspects that Lucifer isn't as far away as he probably could be. When he lies in his bed at night, Sam sometimes imagines soft feathers brushing over his skin. Yet he always falls asleep before he can open his eyes and check if Lucifer is truly there.

It happens often enough that Sam often wakes up, wanting to scream in frustration, for the spot right next to him is often still warm. As if Lucifer just left, just a second before he's aware enough to grab him and kiss him senseless.

  


* * *

 

  


Castiel's blue eyes are staring holes in Sam's head. It's not as if they haven't seen each other since Amara and Chuck vanished, but given how busy their angel is in Heaven, their meetings are rarely out of pleasure and more a necessity. Days like this, when they can eat breakfast together and watch over a cool lake shimmering in the distance are rare. They all treasure them, though they don't always know how.

"You should tell him," Castiel says after Dean gets up to make more coffee.

"I know," Sam mumbles. "I just don't know how."

It's impossible for him to deny what Castiel means. After the months of searching for a cure and worrying about Dean's wording state thanks to the Mark of Cain, they got close enough to call themselves true friends. It's a different kind of friendship than what Cas shares with Dean, but that's alright.

He isn't able to put his entire relationship with Lucifer either. Not, when it began in the moment Mary Winchester sold the life of her unborn child to a demon in order to get her future husband back. Sam never talked about it, not with Dean or with anyone else. But it's still true that ever since the moment of Mom's deal with Azazel he never truly stood a chance of escaping his destiny. By now he's in too deep in order to imagine a life outside of it and on the off chance Sam makes into Heaven after his death, he decided long ago that he doesn't want to meet Mary Winchester.

It's not often Sam allows himself selfish wishes, but this is one of them.

"The past events should have finally taught us that keeping secrets never ends well for us," Castiel answers. He still wears his trench coat, but for once he isn't sitting stiff and far too formal in his chair. Instead he's leaning back, having folded his hands in his lap and seems to thoroughly enjoy himself.

Sam hopes it's not an act to please Dean. Castiel deserves better than to shoulder all the responsibilities in Heaven alone.

"Of course, you're right. I should tell Dean what Lucifer means to me before he just shows up in the worst possible moment, but I can't imagine them getting along either," Sam finally says. He sighs deep and unhappy.

"If they both love you the way you think they do, they won't make you chose between them," Castiel gives his advice. "Besides Lucifer is powerful enough to make sure that he never meets Dean unless an emergency requires them joining forces."

The words suggests that Lucifer and Dean would actually put their differences aside, if it meant saving Sam's life. It's the best he can hope for, but at the time he doesn't want to imagine a situation where Lucifer is Dean's last resort. Yet, Cas is right. He needs to talk to Dean before Lucifer returns and the post apocalyptical celebration sex turns into a secret relationship.

Later, when Sam struggles to find the right words and thinks about how he could break the news to Dean as gentle as possible, it dawns it him that he doesn't want to Lucifer to be his dirty secret. Not in the way Ruby had been.

It says a lot about Sam that he judges his relationship with Ruby as far worse than what he has with Lucifer.

Though it's difficult to say if fleeting touches in half-remembered dreams count as relationship.

  


* * *

 

  


"Dean, can I talk to you?"

Sam admits he's a coward. Or rather, very cautious about Dean's incoming wrath. Hence why he waits until they are back the bunker and enjoying some enforced downtime, because the Impala needs an overhaul. It will take at least a week, where Dean can't drive anywhere and in case this goes horribly wrong, he has something to vent his anger.

"I don't like that expression, Sammy." Dean narrows his eyes in suspicion. "You only look like this when you put a dent in my baby, but since that's not your fault this time, I'm almost afraid to ask."

With a sigh Sam goes for the heavy stuff and that's enough to make Dean worry in an instant. He'd have to be blind and deaf in order not to notice that something has been weighting on Sam's shoulders. It's the damned sad expression in his eyes that won't go away, that makes him blind to the friendly smiles for the girls in bars and deaf to good brotherly advice. A few weeks ago Dean would've said that Sammy just needed to get laid, but it doesn't escape him that his brother is switching between insomnia and sleeping eight-hours at night.

"Alright," he says and takes a seat, grabbing the glass of whiskey Sam places in front of him. He has the feeling is going to need it, though after the frigging showdown of God and His Very Own Fucking Sister he has difficulties to imagine what could actually be so bad that Sam is pulling such a face.

Dean takes a sip and tells himself it can't be that bad. In the past such confessions were always the result of life or death situations. He should take it as a good sign that someone in this family has the sense to open his mouth to communicate before they fuck up the world again.

 _Stay calm,_ Dean thinks. _He's coming to you and you're both trying to work past all the horrible stuff of the last years. Sammy hadn't a good year ever since I dragged him away from Stanford in the middle of the night. So ... chill out. You can do this._

Who cares if he's paraphrasing what Cas told him over the past few weeks. Looking back, it's obvious that their talks served the purpose of prepping him for whatever comes out of Sammy's mouth soon, but Dean is proud of the progress he made ever since he realized how big he nearly fucked up the world with letting out God's Evil Sister.

_Remember, it can't be that bad. You lived through worse. As long as he's not terminally ill, you are going to be cool with it._

Dean regrets his decision three seconds later when Sam blurts out, "I fucked Lucifer."

  


* * *

 

  


The time where he aspired to be a lawyer maybe long over, but for conversations like this Sam is prepared. Always. Thanks to the years of insomnia, a sporadic sleep schedule and long hours of boredom spent trapped on the road, he has time to go over every possible outcome. Adding that he knows how to push Dean's buttons, most of their arguments are rarely a surprise unless Sam isn't feeling well, gets snappy and cruel and digs out the stuff that makes Dean fight back.

The rant he gets after his sentence and endures in silence almost hits every single space of his internal bingo card. Phrases like ' _Are you fucking serious?'_ , _'The Devil, Sammy. The fucking Devil!_ ' and ' _Have you forgotten what he did to us?_ ' are thrown at his head. Those are pretty much expected since it's always been Sam who interacted with Lucifer, aside from Dean's single attempt to kill Lucifer with the Colt.

"Are you done?" Sam's quiet hiss sounds through the room and he rubs his forehead, trying to get rid of the headache that threatens to tear his mind apart. "I didn't tell you to get yelled at. I told you, because I wanted you to know. I told you, because I only have seen him in my dreams since that day. I know that he's staying away for the single damned reason that he knows how you would feel about this and you just don't get how considerate that is? We could fuck every single day and you wouldn't be the wiser. Hell, I could happily live with him and _neither of us_ would think something is wrong is it, because he could just manipulate the reality to his likening. But he doesn't. Lucifer wants me to have this choice and _damn you_ for ruining it."

His vision turns fuzzy as tears run down Sam's face. He doesn't know how he got from calmly making his argument to crying bitterly, but before he can quite realize it he's running up the stairs, taking two steps at once.

Sam hears Dean calling his name, yet it's just background noise.

All Sam wants to do is _run._ Run as far as possible, preferable away from his feelings.

His feet turn to the well-known route, finds the beaten path he uses every morning. He runs through the darkness, along the hidden road that leads up the bunker, runs past the sign he usually takes to circle back through the forest and keeps going, still at full speed. His breath comes out in white clouds, because the nights are damned cold already.

Sam wishes he could say that he doesn't know where he's going, that he's out of his mind and overcome with emotions. The truth is that he already has a destination in mind. There's a lake not far away, a natural reservoir the Men of Letters have been using to keep their water supply steady. The lake is also the reason why the showers take so damned long to heat up. When he sees the surface glisting in the sparse moonlight, Sam finally slows down. His heart his pounding at his ribcage, but it's not as bad as it could be. This is proof that he's in a good shape, far better than he was after the trails and it's pleasing to see that months of morning workouts have been paying off.

Though his frail state after the trails never have been a physical one. It had been his mind and his soul that threatened to fall apart.

Noticing that his thoughts begin to go down a rather unwelcome path called _Gad reel,_ Sam chooses to do the only sensible thing he can think of.

He puts his head into his neck, looks at the stars and prays to Castiel first.

"Hey Cas, it's Sam. I talked to Dean and it didn't go so well. If you have the time, could you tell him that I will be back in the morning?"

Nothing follows expect for a rustling in the trees, but Sam doesn't expect an answer anyway. Faith is a difficult thing to have, when even God has given up on it, but in this case he knows that Castiel won't disappoint him. Just as Sam knows that he won't run away, he will not leave Dean behind never to be seen again to be with Lucifer. He can't do that, not after everything he went through and survived.

"Is it wrong that I want both?" he asks.

"I can give you everything you want, Sam." This time Lucifer's voice is real and it's the first thing Sam hears, long before he notices how the lake slowly freezes over as the archangel approaches.

Sam takes a deep breath. Dean's reaction wasn't a surprise and his head was almost clear on his way here. Now after a single word from Lucifer and threatens to unravel. He blames it on his stupid habit to shove everything unpleasant into a mental box and tries not to think about it. Unfortunately Lucifer lived in the same corner of his mind for a very long time and therefore the devil knows him. Knows his deep dark secrets and his mundane wishes far to well.

Lucifer steps out of the darkness, sliding out of it like he opened a curtain and it's just not fair that Sam wants to fall apart right then and there. Distant dreams aren't just enough in the end if you have been missing the love of your life every single day.

Every moment since he got his soul back.

Or perhaps even before then. There has to be a reason why his soulless self handled himself far better than all the other people without souls they met. For even without emotions like guilt and compassion, his soulless self felt base needs like pain and hunger. Sam will never find out, he will never reach out the tiny fracture of himself in order to ask if Lucifer settled so deep into his bones that they missed him even when they lacked the ability to feel.

"You can't put the world into my hands and tell me to keep it, Lucifer. I'm not strong enough for that." Sam whispers as the archangel wraps his arms around him. Wings made of light leave frost on the trees that go from beautiful floral patterns to runes to complicated maths functions.

A soft, pleasant shiver runs down his neck when Lucifer presses his lips against the exposed skin. Sam can't tell if Lucifer is running hot or cold, only that it's perfect. It's the exact and right amount of sensational input at the moment, gratifying without overwhelming his senses. There have been moments in the past, when they touched and Sam went from rock-hard to coming in three seconds. Just because the Archangel ran a finger down his spine.

Of course that has been true the other way around as well and it takes Sam's breath away every time.

There's something about it, bringing an old and all-powerful creature pleasure. Sam will never forget the sight how Lucifer arches into his touch. The Archangel _wants_ him. Just Sam and it feels like it's the first time in his life that he experiences being at the right end of honest and breathtaking desire. Everyone else always had their own reasons for spending time with him.

It's been true for Ruby and for anyone else he attempted an relationship with.

Even Jess fits into the category, who had her life planned out and been looking for husband material. It's true, no matter how long Sam denied it due to his guilt of getting her killed.

Dean, of course, is the primary example. Not that Sam minds, thank you. He always loved or used these people in return.

But ... Lucifer is different. Lucifer sees _all_ of him without Sam having to drag the ugly parts to the surface. Lucifer reads the doubts in his eyes, heals his pain before Sam registers it's there and knows which nightmares he can chase away and which ones Sam has do deal with on his own.

Finally Lucifer says, "I don't need you to be strong, Sam. You have been fighting all your life, from the moment you have been conceived there were people shaping you for various purposes."

Sam twists around until he rest his head on Lucifer's shoulders. He's still standing in a unreal environment. The frozen lake is indescribable beautiful, a display of power solely to make Sam feel at ease. The cold reminds Sam of another place, a more dreadful one, but with the patterns slowly growing and reaching into the forest he will never doubt again that he's out of the cage and Lucifer had known, without having ask or to prod unnecessarily, how to make that happen.

"I want you to stay," Sam confesses. It's been a long time since he allowed himself to want. "I need you to."

Lucifer breathes over Sam's neck, kissing it with a gentleness that breaks Sam all over again. After he said _Yes_ they had perfect balance for a few weeks. Deep down both of them knew that they couldn't avoid the final confrontation, but twisted time and space to give Sam a taste of freedom. A luxury Sam never had, not with his birth having been prophetised millennia ago.

Hands spread over his hips, steadying him when he threatens to fall, but Lucifer easily supports his weight. Sam falls apart, right then and there. It's such a simple gesture, but even Dean buckles under his brother's tall frame when he has to drag him back after a hunt gone wrong. For Lucifer on the other hand he's nothing more than a feather in the wind. Something to hold on carefully, to keep it in your palm in order to admire its fragile beauty.

"You're not fragile, Sam. You possess more strength than any other person I have ever encountered," Lucifer says, reading his thoughts. He senses that speaking mind to mind is beyond his capabilities right now. Spoken words help to anchor Sam to reality, to convince him that this is not just another dream.

It still feels like one, when Lucifer tugs at his shirt and Sam turns around. He knows that the deep urge to look, to feel and to admire isn't just his own. They both waited a long time for this moment. They needed it to be the right one, couldn't afford to leave it to chance and back luck. Years of hunting, of stumbling across ways to summon Lucifer back to his side had been a temptation. It's one of his deepest, darkest desires. The most shameful one, from a human's perspective.

The truth that he hadn't wanted to let Lucifer go. That they clung to each other so desperately that Castiel only got his body out.

Not that they had been able to be happy, down there. The cage wasn't designed for any kind of bliss and Sam can see its traces in Lucifer's eyes, just as the Archangel can feel its effects in Sam's soul.

"You are far brighter than Father ever was," Lucifer whispers and puts a hand on Sam's cheek. It should be the moment, where Sam should protest and practice humility, yet he won't do Lucifer the disservice of lying to him. Not when the Archangel believes this to be true. Not when it sounds like confession, like a declaration of loyalty.

Lucifer pulls him closer and Sam feels heat ghosting over his skin as their lips hover inches apart from each other.

He shivers, but it's not the cold this time.

It's anticipation and the memory of the few days they spent in Sam's bed.

The Devil's hands are eager to itch beneath Sam's shirt, but Lucifer is holding back. Is clinging to his last shred of control and Sam realizes he's the only soul in the damned universe to know the difference. To feel the power folded into the body in front of him and not to be frightened by it. How could he be, when all this grace, all this ancient knowledge once wrapped itself around his soul?

How could he feel fear when the memory still takes his breath away.

"Say it," Lucifer hisses. His fingers dig into skin and Sam knows he will have bruises later.

" _Yes,"_ he breathes and crashes his mouth on Lucifer's before the Devil can give him a reply. The way both groan and shudder with relief as they press their bodies together is answer enough.

It's been too long.

Sam wonders how it's possible to miss something that is a part of you already.

  


* * *

 

  


Wounds are healing while they make up for lost time. It's justice that the pain comes from what they inflicted on each other in the past. It's good, it's bright and confusing, but Sam doesn't let go. Even if he loses the track of time. A little. He hasn't been back in the bunker yet despite the fact they he spend weeks and months at Lucifer's side. Free.

"Don't worry, your brother won't notice that you were away at all," Lucifer murmurs and Sam loves the weight of the Archangel's hand on his back.

They are standing in a desert with a million stars above their heads, but what really catches Sam's breath are the pyramids in front of him. In their great glory and not as the worn image everybody knows today. They are beautiful and Sam doesn't care of Lucifer bent time and space for him or if this is an illusion. It's real enough to paint a happy smile on Sam's face.

"Where do you want to go next?" Lucifer asks with the casualness of someone who doesn't know the word boundary.

Sam feels giddy and thinks about all the places he saw in the discovery channel. Through the years he learned that he'd never be able to visit just one of them. For no matter if he dreamed about it sometimes, of driving to the airport and buying a one-way ticket he has always known that he's stuck with the life John had thrown his children into. Stanford was the farthest he could go and as it turned out, it was Azazel's lie all along.

"I can show you places where no human has ever been." Cold lips ghosts over his skin and Sam can't decide if he wants to explore the bottom of the sea or if he wants the other promise Lucifer is dangling in front of him.

"I want everything," Sam answers and the grin he gets in return is more beautiful than the stars over their heads.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed reading this fic as much as I loved writing it!


End file.
